They're strong
with the forceful thousands and thousands of Blank Eyes;
and plastic flags that hang on Main Street flutter
in dead air...
so, there's no need to question them,
even to ask what the matter is, because
cartoon police patrol the city streets
leaving no room for rags
or musicians--
because
"Safety" was circumscribed into loops and downward spirals
by circular arguments
or by mutes, the Inheritor,
and a sinkhole that formed in the middle of downtown,
after de-rail-abrations
chipped off accidental crumbs from the Piecrust.
Well, the policrats still come down here
scamming us to buy bigger and bigger guns,
Threatening and robbing
those who didn't vote for the Son;
but I was too young the first time, and the second
he had the momentum of a country that'd half-lost its mind
(i voted nader)
So the deficit just keeps growing
But complaints are only heard at the pump line
shhhhh...they might hear
[but I'll ask Her for you anyway...]
"...could this really be the end?"
Oh, I'm STUCK in the wake of the American Century,
with the post-postmodern Blues, again...
though what's far worse,
my hands are smooth and clean;
and strangers claim to be familiar,
so the familiar must be strange...
and distracted by the green changed season,
i can't seem to tell time
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